


Pull Me From The Brink

by thnderchld



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Angst, F/M, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Post-War, Sickness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-28
Updated: 2014-05-25
Packaged: 2018-01-17 08:22:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1380694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thnderchld/pseuds/thnderchld
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Katara finds out about the sickness in her body, she knows that she can no longer live with Aang. She leaves for the South Pole, where she reunites with an old friend; and sees the world with him. One last time. And together, perhaps, Katara and Zuko can find some resemblance of happiness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Reunion

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Katara and Zuko do not belong to me. The world does not belong to me. All I own are the words, and I hope I have done well with them.

Katara is known as The Great Waterbender. Her abilities exceed them all. At night she dreams of water, of pillars of ice. But there is always the feeling of wrongness around her, at least when she’s awake. She cries while she sleeps, and yet that’s the only time she can feel her smile reaching her eyes. She knows that there is snow, and barrels, and clouds, but Katara can’t help yearning for smooth white floors, the knowledge that worlds live under her feet.

 

It’s somewhere in winter that she begins to cough. Of course they all think it’s normal. Sokka visits, and it’s something like normality, except they don’t eat fish. They eat vegetables, and she’s not able to eat _anything._ They don’t know it, but she’s not able to eat without vomiting in a bin afterwards, her own hands keeping the long brown hair out of her mouth.

 

Before they know it, she’s losing weight like a zoo animal. Her eyes lost their glow a year ago, but now she fears it might be serious. She clings to Aang and her brother for warmth. Though she’s his wife, kissing him always, it’s always been awkward. She feels like she’s kissing her child.

 

Winter melts into spring, and before she knows it, Aang is always _there_ and she can’t hide except for the times she’s asleep, or vomiting. Fevers become normal, her brown skin ugly and beautiful all at once. She sleeps all the time, like Sleeping Beauty, except Aang’s kiss can’t wake her.

 

Aang calls for a doctor for one of the only times in his life. The response is simple. She is homesick.

 

It’s proven correct on one of the few occasions she’s awake. She looks at him with those cold eyes. “Aang,” she says through dry, chapped lips, “I need to go home.”

“Your home is here, Katara.”

“It’s killing me.”

That’s all that’s needed to confuse him. “How can you be sure that’s what you need? You need rest.”

“I’ve been sick since I moved here, Aang. And if I’m going to die anyway, let me die in my home. My soul and I have been parted too long. I’ll meet her in the Southern Water Tribe.”

With a withered, tired sigh Aang nods, and Katara coughs into a handkerchief, already thinking about oceans and whaledogs.

 

 

* * *

Fire Lord Zuko is going insane; that’s what he thinks. He is kept up all night doing duties for the Fire Nation.

She left months ago; Mai did. He didn’t have enough love left in his chest.

 

When his eyes are closed, however, and he thinks of Katara, he misses her. Dreams of dark brown hair make him grin. He is happy as Fire Lord, mostly. But he finds that he never has time for anything anymore. If only there were another way.

  
He figures that the Fire Nation has making up to do. They have destroyed Nations, swept people under a rug like dirt. They have been giants, destroying houses in their waking. So he decides to do something.

  
Without too much explanation, he informs his Uncle of his leaving, while he grabs a coat.

 

He’d never say it, but he’s missed the ocean. It doesn’t really feel right sometimes, when he’s sitting on his throne. It’ll be nice to see his crew again.

 

 

* * *

  
Katara watches as the first icebergs come into view. She longs to brush her fingers along one of the cold surfaces, but she’s been expressly forbidden. She has to stop for a minute while she hacks her lungs out over the side.

 

Wiping her mouth with her sleeve, she watches the water parting beneath the bow of the ship. The ship has yet to be taken over by the ice, but she knows it will.

 

_I’m leaving,_ she thinks. Her gaze drifts backwards to an Air Temple that disappeared long ago. Aang is still there, will always be there, while Katara was always supposed to live among water.

They’re going to terminate the marriage. For anyone else it would bring at least a bit of grief, or anger, but Katara smiles. She won’t have to kiss her brother anymore.

 

Aang is left behind, because he’s like her in a way. He needs to be high up for a while, in mountains or on Appa. He can’t stay on flat ground for years without growing uncomfortable. And besides, she doesn’t want him to end up like her; coughing and sweating like the undead.

 

The water makes her heart beat faster. She decides that she’s more likely to heal if she does what she wants. Her hand stretches over the rail, creating a serpentine thread of shimmering liquid.

 

It strikes a chord inside her, a smile coming to her lips. Her return is unannounced, and she can already picture the faces of her father and brother, feel their arms wrapping around her weak-but-steady frame.

 

A few minutes later, she feels the ship stop. With a rush of happiness she runs downstairs, to the place in which she’ll enter a familiar world of white and blue.

 

When she steps onto the ice for the first time in forever she falls to her knees. Her delicate lips press into the chill of her homeland.

 

* * *

 Zuko looks out from his watchtower. He can see the white of the Southern Water tribe. He had decided that he would go clockwise around the globe, to ask for forgiveness of all the nations.

 

He feels the ship shift as it stops. He swallows a lump of nervousness, and leaves for the ice.

 

They walk for what seems like half an hour, when in reality it was ten minutes. Everything around Zuko is white, save for the sky. When he reaches the village he waits while his old friends talk to Hakoda.

 

“Ah, my daughter’s old friend,” the chief greets him. “My son is fishing at the moment, but he should be back.”

 

“Your daughter is with the Avatar still?”

“Of course. They’re meant to be!” Hakoda laughs.

Zuko nods, though his teeth clench.

“Surely though, it must be trying up in the mountains! She doesn’t have any water.”

“True. But she’s happy, from what I’ve heard.”

“When did you last hear from her?”  
“Midwinter.”

 

Zuko nods again, pressing his lips together so they form a thin line. “Are you not worried?”

“We’d catch word if she was ill.”

“Are you sure. The Air Temples are far from villages.”

“Aang would make the trip.”

 

It’s true, he thinks, Aang would. Zuko tips a mug of warm ice-tea into his mouth. The steam warms his face from the chill of the icy desert. He gulps down the liquid as if it were one of his mother’s mugs of warm milk.

 

 

* * *

Katara knows the way off by heart. She sees nothing through the thick covering of snow. Wool gloves grip at her skirt nervously. Her pace is quick but careful. This Katara knows that she is still sick. She will probably be sick for a while.

 

While she walks, she focuses on the white puffs leaving her mouth. The snow isn’t too bad, but while her cheeks remain covered, her eyelashes are coated in snowflakes.

 

A few minutes span over the desert before she sees the Southern Water Tribe’s barriers. Katara starts to run but finds herself tripping over her own feet. Once again she’s on her knees, her limbs trembling. Another coughing fit almost overwhelms her, and droplets of blood stain the snow. _Shame. Seems I’m not going to heal, yet._

 

On her feet again, pulling her scarf down.

 

A few children stand outside and one notices her. “Look!” she screeches.

“Ki!” Katara laughs.

“Katara!”

 

The girl had been six last time the Master waterbender had seen her. She prays to Yue and Tui that she doesn’t cough now that she’s here. Ki is now ten, and she leaps towards Katara, wrapping her in a hug.

Her friends join her. Li, Mina, and Nai.

 

“I’m back,” she says, and hopes that the girls can hear. “Do you know where my dad and brother are?”

 

“In the Chief Igloo.”

“Of course,” Katara grins, giving them another brief hug before striding towards the Igloo.

 

She stops outside and listens to the voices. Her father, her brother and… Zuko? A laugh almost erupts at coincidence. However, suddenly she has to stop herself from another coughing fit.

 

She knows she shouldn’t have come if it were anything else. Katara swallows her cough and her lungs shriek in agony. Trying not to make any noise, Katara’s fingernails dig into her palms. A long, cold breath of air comes rushing into her body, soothing her organs for a bit.

 

She scoops a bit of snow and melts it, drinking the cold liquid. Then she’s back on her feet, knocking on the wall of the igloo. The voices stop. “Come in,” her father’s warm voice says.

 

She enters, not entirely sure if they’d recognise her. Well, Sokka and Zuko. Her father always said she looked like her mother. With a grin she strides towards her father and wraps him in a hug.

 

“Katara? We had no idea!” A laugh rumbles from her father’s gut. And for the first time she is so, so happy.

 

“ _Katara?”_ Sokka’s familiar voice makes her grin, but it also makes her guilty.

He was there while she was sick. “What are you doing here?”

 

Katara shoots Zuko a glance. “I’m moving back. I can’t live with Aang anymore.” She can sense Sokka sharpening his boomerang already.

Hakoda almost looks heartbroken. “Katara, what happened?”  
“It wasn’t Aang. I can’t live up in mountains anymore. There’s no substantial water up there.”

“There is snow and clouds-”

“It can’t save me. If anything it’s destroying me.”

 

* * *

Zuko’s eyebrows draw into a frown.

Katara meets his eyes and sticks her tongue out. “Look who’s back,” she smirks.

  


_You’ve changed,_ Zuko thinks.

The cough she’d been hiding before fights its way up again. She sucks in a ragged breath, and once again her body screams in protest.

She moves away so that she can cough into her left hand. It rumbles out of her body, dark red sticking to her palms. She frowns for a minute.

“I’m finally back,” she says, a small smile appearing. “Aang got a healer up on the weekend for the first time in his _life._ My body physically can’t live there anymore.”

  
“So you’re literally homesick?” asks Zuko. His fingers knot together.

Katara hesitates, and she almost falls apart. “Yes,” she says, her voice springing out. “Physically, as you can see. I’ve been sick since winter.”

“I was there!” Sokka suddenly shouts, “How did you not show anything?”

“I don’t want you to worry about me.” Her shoulders rise and drop. She doesn’t hide the fatigue.

“Of course I worry now!” her brother yells.

If only she could keep her coughs in. But she can’t, and she’s too tired to be mad, so without any resistance the waterbender leaves the room, back outside into the snow.

 

* * *

She is soon joined by a presence. Right away she senses the familiar air of the Prince- Or Fire Lord, now.

“How bad is it really?” he says, his first private words to her in four years.

“Not too bad,” Katara lies. She doesn’t want his pity. Not him. It would ruin her, probably.

She swallows another cough, and curls into herself. The cough beats its way into the world, however. She’s too late to stop the droplets of blood landing at her feet. “When I said that living in the Air Temple was killing me, I meant it literally.” She watches his gaze landing on the crimson, lying amongst the white. The impurity reaching through layers of perfection. “I think- I don’t think I’m going to die. I just need water. I need movement.”

 

“This is serious, Katara.” She had missed his voice. “Do you realise that you’re _coughing up blood!”_ His voice rises. His hands grip her wrists. “I came out here to talk to you about the sickness.”  

“Don’t yell at me. I’m too tired,” Katara hisses, yanking her hands away from his and wrapping them around her knees. Her brunette curls bob as she shakes her head from side to side. She swallows the metallic blood.

“This isn’t you, Katara. Where has the real one gone?”

“She lives on the seas, I think.”

“Are you sure?”

“I think. I’m going to stay here for a little bit. And then, if that doesn’t work.” The Waterbending master pauses, her eyebrows creasing. “I’m going to go with you.”

 

* * *

Zuko starts. His golden eyes look at her for any sign of a joke, but there is nothing. “Why! You need to heal.”

“That’s the thing. I’m not sure if I will ever entirely heal. I want to do something. I don’t want to lie on my deathbed like a- like a _quitter._ ”

She’s back. _This_ is the Katara he knows. The one who bites at prodding, who will _not_ just sit down and do nothing. Despite the grotesque topic, he almost smiles. “You may come. But if they find out they’ll never let you leave. Especially Sokka.”

“I won’t let them. I’ll ask for a handkerchief.”

“Okay. How long will we stay?”

“Two weeks.”

 

With a slight nod, Zuko extends his hand. “That should give me enough time to reconcile with the chief of the Southern Water Tribe.”

 

 

* * *

Zuko, in his sleep, doesn’t know what made him say yes. Katara is ill. Yes- Katara is ill and he doesn’t really know what to say to that. The other night she had a fever, and all through the night he heard peoples’ hushed voices. ‘ _Do you think she’s going to die?’_

_‘I can’t comment on the Chieftain’s daughter’s condition.’_

And of course, Zuko thinks, this was a _terrible idea._ Of course he had to come to the Southern Water Tribe while Hakoda’s daughter returned- _ill -_ and he was the only one who knew how serious it was.

For a moment he ponders the world without Katara there. Katara was _always_ there.

 

When Katara announces that it’s morning, Zuko can’t help but groan. He gets to his feet. He’s slept in his robe, of course. It’s freezing cold, and even though he’s got multiple fur coats and layers, his breath comes frosty.

 

 

Sokka’s had a good catch. On the table lie plates of fish. Accompanying that are bowls of sea prunes. Zuko’s forgotten how much he hates it, but he eats it out of politeness. He notices that Katara is also eating little.

 

He reaches out, his hand squeezing Katara’s. She shoots him a knowing smile. Zuko nods back, but he doesn’t make a smile. They can’t suspect anything.

 

“Zuko. You’ve been spending a lot of time with my daughter lately.”

 

Zuko spluttered. “What- oh yeah.” He swallowed some soup. “I think you suspect why I’m here. I’m making formal apologies to all the four nations. Well, you, the Earth Kingdom, and the Northern Water Tribe. And I have to apologize to _my people_ as well. It’s been years since Katara saw the Fire Nation. It gleams of hope. So she’s coming with me.”

 

“What?! But she’s only just back!” Hakoda muttered, rubbing his chin.

 

“I’m not leaving right away, Dad. In two weeks.”

 

Hakoda sighed. “Well, I guess you’re an adult now. You can make your own decisions.”

 

“Thanks, Dad.”

 

Katara grins at him. A gust of wind blows through the doorway and Katara literally sways. She laughs.

 

 

* * *

The cold flows into her body, pushing her sideways, and then she comes back, bumping her arm into Zuko slightly. A giggle leaves her lips. “It’s good to be back,” she smiles.

 

“Good to have you back,” Hakoda says to his daughter.

 

Sokka grins at her. “My sister’s back.”

 

“It’s true,” Katara giggles again.

 

* * *

 

“Zuko.” The word comes as a blessing, sliding around his body, and the sound of her voice makes his knees almost buckle. He turns and sees her there. Her brown hair is loose, down to her waist. The blue furs are almost identical to the ones she used to wear when he still chased her, when Azula chased her, when Katara and Zuko rode Appa with the others. Like the colour of her element.

 

Her eyelids blink, and her lips turn up in a smile. “Zuko,” she repeats and it sounds like home.

 

Zuko takes a step forward. “We haven’t _actually_ truly reunited, have we? As friends.”

 

Katara nods, and brushes a strand of hair out of her face. “I guess we haven’t.”

 

“Should we change that?”

 

“Well, I know I’ve waited for ages to do this.” Katara strides forward in small leaps and springs ocean-coloured arms around his. Her breath is warm on his neck, raising gooseflesh.

 

Even when he was still with Mai, he wanted to do _this_.

 

He places his hands on her waist. “Thank goodness you’re a firebender,” she smirks against the crook of his chin. Then she lets go, stepping back. “Want to go for a walk? For old time’s sake.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Katara takes his hand in hers for warmth, and she’s dragging him behind her impatiently.

  
Past the gates. “We won’t be gone long!” she calls behind her.

 

Katara is stronger than she has been in the weeks that he’s seen her. “I think it’s the water all around me. I know it is. It’s underneath our feet,” she explains.

 

He knows that. And he supposes she’s right. “How come you couldn’t bend in the mountains if there was water in the air?”

 

Katara sighs. “You don’t understand, Zuko. That’s very unsubstantial to waterbenders. And plus. I think the best thing is knowing that the ocean is near. I didn’t have that in the temples. I was the furthest thing from the ocean there was. Over a thousand and twenty kilometres.”

 

It’s in these moments that he thinks she’s the most beautiful. Though still sick, her eyes are alive. This is one of the first signs of resistance to her illness. As if speaking of the devil, she has to cough into her handkerchief. “Don’t mind me,” she smiles. “It’s no secret that I’m going to die. I’m resigned.”

 

Zuko makes a noise in the back of his throat that Katara pretends to ignore. She lets go of his hand and spins with the snow beating against her cheeks.

 

Katara walks quickly to keep up with his pace. Zuko’s so kept up in Katara that he doesn’t notice the hole in the ice. Zuko slips through, getting wedged in between the jagged sides. “Fuck!” he snorts.

 

Smirking, Katara gets to her knees and extends a mitten-free hand. Zuko clasps it with a groan.

 

He’s more shaken than he lets on. He knows that these holes can go on forever. Until he drowns.

 

“First,” Katara says, and he hears ice grinding beneath him. “You’ll need to learn that ice is water.”

 

“I _know_ that.”

 

“Therefore a waterbender can move it. Currently, you will not be thrust into the abyss.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Now use your body heat to melt the ice around you.”

 

“I’ll fall.”

  
“No you won’t, idiot. I wouldn’t be smiling if you were.”

 

Zuko makes his heat rise, wincing at the noises of discomfort coming from Katara. “It’s okay,” she squeaks, “I can heal.”

 

The ice melts around his body and his legs make contact with the platform keeping him from plummeting into darkness.

 

Katara takes a minute to look at him, her chocolate lips turned upwards, blue eyes blinking down at him.

 

For that minute, he’s drowning in her eyes, tossed among rocks and waves. “I’ll save you.” The soft words come from the real and the imaginary Katara.

 

Katara stands upwards, her hands in a waterbending stance. Concentrating, Katara raises her arms. The ice rumbles, and he’s going up, like he’s in an elevator.

 

He collapses onto the ice, dragging himself away from the area of the hole. Katara lets go and the platform plummets.

 

Zuko stares at the hole until he hears something smack earth. He turns around and sees Katara, her limbs slack. Her head is turned to the side, her breaths coming laboured.

 

Zuko yells out, scampering to her body, lifting her into his arms. “Katara!” he yells.

 

Her breath comes in soft puffs of white air. He checks her pulse, all the while remembering what his uncle taught him.

 

“It’s okay,” he whispers. “You’ll wake up.” He doesn’t notice the sopping clothes he’s wearing, too kept up in trying to drill this piece of information into Katara’s mind.

 

  


* * *

 One minute she was standing in triumph, watching the man she saved staring at the hole in which he _would have_ disappeared without her help.

 

Now she’s lying in blackness, with only the faint voice of Zuko. She registers him pulling her into his arms. It feels nice. Katara sighs.

 

He yells slightly.

 

Katara wonders if she’ll die five days before leaving. She sees a faint shape around her.

 

It’s not black. It’s a wasteland of muck and mud and puddles. The sky is the colour of smog, sunless. She feels for the ones who live here day in and day out.

 

“Katara,” a voice says from behind her.

 

Katara turns quickly. Though it’s been years, that voice is as familiar as her brother. “Mum,” she whispers. “Am I dead?”

 

Kya looks like her, except for the softer curve of her cheeks. Her eyes are identical to Katara’s own. Katara’s throat feels clogged.

 

“Almost,” Kya says.

 

“I don’t want to live here,” Katara whispers. She realises that she’s fourteen again. Same age as when she was combing the world for Ozai; the Avatar, her future _ex_ -husband at her side.

 

“You won’t,” Kya smiles. “Now go. Zuko’s getting worried.”

 

“Zuko!” Katara realises, “I didn’t think about him! Well I did. Of course I did. But I need to get back to him!”

 

“That’s right, Katara,” Kya smiles, brushing her daughter’s cheek. “I’ve got an old friend to escort you.”

 

There’s the sound of water parting and Katara turns her head to see Yue, her face graced with a kind smile.

 

“Yue!” Katara exclaims.

 

“Katara,” Yue nods a greeting and extends her hand. “Come with me.”

 

Her voice is melodic, soothing. Katara takes it and shoots a backwards glance at her mother.

 

Yue leads Katara.

“Mum said I’m going to die soon.” Katara says when she turns back.

Yue smiles at Katara.

 

“Spirits have a different concept of ‘soon’. I’m one of the newer ones and the older ones at the same time. I am La and I am Yue. I haven’t completely lost it yet.”

 

Katara nods. “But it’s still true. I’m going to die from this sickness.”

 

Yue shakes her head. “Your mother and I are doing everything in our power to keep you in that world. I don’t think you will die for a while. At least a few years.”

 

Katara stops, smiling at the spirit. “This is my stop.”

 

Yue helps Katara onto an invisible platform before she dissolves into mist.

 

 

Katara finally comes to, with a relieved sense of life. She stirs in Zuko’s arms, opening blue eyes. She lifts up, touching Zuko’s jaw. “Zuko.”

 

The Fire Lord’s almost asleep. He wakes with a start. “Katara!” he yells, folding her in his embrace.

 

She smiles against him.

 

“I thought you’d died!” Zuko grins.

 

Katara laughs out loud. “I almost did! I walked all the way to the ghost village. Apparently I’ve got a few years left in me. I still want to go with you, though. For memories’ sake.”

 

Zuko almost cries in relief. He’s going to see her again. He’s not going to have to see the faces of Hakoda and Sokka and Toph and Aang as she’s cast off in a coffin-boat.

 

He almost kisses her. Almost presses pale lips to her brown ones. But she’s only just alive.

 

“Don’t speak of this to my father,” Katara laughs.

 

“I won’t. Only the thing about you saving me.”

 

“Damn right I did.”

 

Zuko helps her to her feet, a grin plastered on her face. Zuko takes her hands, warming them with his. Katara is laughing and giggling like a child. She twirls over the ice, her dress blossoming out.

 

Zuko humours her with a dance, twirling her around, pressing her into his chest, her smile almost brushing his jawbone. Her hair kisses his neck, brushing feathersoft fingers along the side.

 

When they walk through the gates, there’s a spring in both of their steps. Katara has healed her wrist, and there’s nothing there but a single blister. If anyone asks, all she has to say is that she saved the Fire Lord.

 

 

* * *

“Katara!”

She turns her head in the direction of her brother. “I’m back!” she grins.

 

“Don’t you have a cold?”

 

“So? It’s not likely I’m going to die. And besides, if Zuko had gone alone he would’ve been fish meat.”

 

“He wouldn’t have gone without you!”

 

Katara shrugs. “Still valid.”

 

Sokka shoots Zuko a warning glare. Katara seems to sense this and punches Sokka softly in the shoulder.

 

“Ignore him,” Katara chuckles over her shoulder.

 

Katara can sense Zuko’s eyes on the back of her head. It brings a smile to her dark face.                                         

 

* * *

 Now Katara’s hand is cool in Zuko’s palm as they ascend the Fire Nation ship he arrived on. There’s a noise behind them. Katara stops; curious to see if it is her father or Sokka saying a last goodbye.

 

But she sees herself, fourteen, blue dress floating behind her and azure eyes staring up at her soul’s keeper. It’s Katara’s soul, coming up from the ice.

 

Katara raises her free hand, waves a little bit, but the soul is as blind as Toph. She walks straight through Katara.

“What is it?” Zuko asks.

 

“Nothing,” Katara smirks at him.

 

They are sucked into the hull of the ship, amidst lit lanterns. The dark sharpens Katara’s features as he leads her to the deck of the ship. She grins beside him, her lips curling at the edges, and her arms extended, pulling water from the ocean in another ‘Hello’.

 

“Farewell!” she laughs, and the ship takes off for the Earth Kingdom.

 


	2. Backwards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katara and Zuko have a talk on the roof of the Captain's cabin and watch the sun go down as they remember what they've lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I only own the words and the plot.

The wind whips her in the face as the ship courses through the water. Saltwater stings her lips, and she inhales. It’s different for her, this time. Katara is heading towards the towering Earth Kingdom. She’s plotting in it head. Omashu, then to Ba Sing Se.

Katara tugs the water from its shimmering basin. It comes as easily as breathing, now. It’s like something is tugging at her core. There is an unspoken secret that Waterbenders don’t reveal, and that is this.

Water _sings_ to them. Or at least Katara.  
From the day Katara wailed her first, pulled to her mother’s breast, she heard the water beneath the Southern Water Tribe singing, welcoming their last into her first.

This is another thing that Katara has never told anyone. They say that one can’t remember their birth. It’s impossible. But I’ll tell you this. Katara remembers the ten minutes after birth, the feeling of lightness and love consuming her. Somewhere buried inside her little newborn soul Katara heard singing. A lullaby by Sedna herself. Katara remembers the look of her mother’s face, dark hair plastered to her face, smiling a promise to never let her daughter go.

When Katara was four years old, she became something special. Sucking her thumb, she heard it again. Seated on a crate of her Papa’s new ice wine, kicking her tiny feet against the wood, her eyes widened in a rush. “Mama!” she suddenly yelled, spurting from her position on the rough surface. She sprinted to where the older woman was pushing dust out of the house. “Mama! Mama!”  
Kya sent a look to her mother-in-law before turning to her daughter.  
Katara stopped in her tracks, breathing in and out, before pointing at the ice. “The ground is singing!” she yelled.

Kya had smiled; a nonbender. “I suppose Sedna is happy today.”

“I’m not lying!” Katara squealed. “The water is singing to me. Can’t you hear it too?”

By then her grin had dropped, and she was looking at her grandmother curiously, head tipped as if she couldn’t even ponder it. Kya frowned at her mother-in-law. “Can you say any of the words?”

“She says all I need to do is pull,” Katara muttered. Then she had turned to the laundry water. “She’s telling me little motions I need to do.”

She outstretched her arms suddenly, feeling as though something was connecting inside her teensy frame. And she pulled as hard as she could. As if living, the water in the bucket went livid, trying to leave it. And then Katara yanked, and a strand of silvery water was shimmering in the air.

Kya’s face had paled, and then she pulled her daughter to her chest, fear a shadow at the back of her hopeful mind.

Katara thinks of this now, Sedna smiling from beneath. Her heart aches when she pictures her mother, ever young, forever drifting beneath the ice. The young waterbender always imagined Sedna when this happened. She was under the ice as well, unable to claw her way out, but happy with her sealife animals. _Is my mother your friend there? Is she happy?_

There’s a noise behind her as Katara lets the ribbon return to it’s inky home. She turns around to find her old friend standing there awkwardly. “Zuko,” Katara smiles, the rails of the ship pressing into her back. Her eyelashes brush her dusky cheeks, and her lips turn upwards.

“This is the sister to the ship I chased you on,” he mutters, an awkward chuckle leaving his lips.

Katara raises an eyebrow. Then she tips her head back, a momentary laugh sounding from her throat.

When she faces Zuko again, her spirit seems higher. “Waterbending,” she smiles, “That’s what I’ve needed.”

The firebender looks at her with happiness, relief, and something a little bit different in his eyes. “Do you know where Mai apparently is now?” he says suddenly. “I received word.”

“Do tell.”

“She joined up with Jun.”

“The bounty hunter who thought you and I were a couple?”

“Yeah.”

Katara let a long whistle pass her lips. “That would be a terrifying opponent. Knives and paralysis. Sokka and I’d be _nothing_ back then.”

“Do you think _I_ would even _ask </> about sending her after you then? She unnerved me enough on her own. I know Mai. She’s deadly!”_

Katara and Zuko share a laugh that is hollow and full. They have a lot of hollow years to make up for.

Katara parts her lips, inhaling a gust of oxygen. _Don’t think of Aang, don’t think of Aang._  
“I didn’t love him, you know.”

“Who?” Zuko looks at her, eyebrows raised.

“Aang. I didn’t love him.”

“Why did you marry him, then?”

Katara shrugs. “I couldn’t turn him down. Do you know how that would destroy me to see his face if I rejected him?”

“I suppose I understand. Not really, though.” He crosses his arms and a familiar scowl drifts onto his features. “I did love Mai. Just not enough.”

“I was practically Aang’s mother. That’s what it felt like. But he saw me as a girl to love. So I had to. It was duty.” Her nose crinkles. “The world thought we were meant to be, so we were.”

Katara finds that she is closer to Zuko than a few minutes prior. She doesn’t want to, but she turns back to the water.

*

Zuko finds that he, or Katara, have moved closer. Her eyes are so familiar to him. But the Katara in his dreams doesn’t lift a candle to the one who stands before him. It’s painful, almost. That shade of blue makes him think of oceans, of failure, of lightning heading towards _her_.

She turns away from him, and his body itches to touch her. He can’t explain it. It’s like when he was younger, and he wanted to hug his father. But he couldn’t then and he can’t now. But he is no stranger to denied dreams.

_It was you. It was always you._

His voice is hoarse when he says the next words. “I’m sorry.”

The silence fills in the words. _That’s something we have in common._

Katara turns back to him, a dry smile on her lips. Her eyes gleam in a way that they shouldn’t. “You were like his father. And Toph’s.”

“Both of us were like their parents,” Zuko sighs. “You and I. Zuko and Katara.”

The latter of the two nods her agreement. “But they didn’t see that. Most of the time, at least. Toph understood. That was why I acted _motherly._ I hated that at the time. But now I understand.”

“Does broken trust fit into the criteria for a father?” he finds himself hissing.

“A _good_ father.”

Zuko nods. “Thank you.”

A laboured sigh leaves Katara’s body. “On the other hand, I see you still haven’t grown your hair out.” Now her eyes are gleaming in another way. Not the _right_ way but _better._

Zuko snorts. “No. I kind of… cut it off before I left on my journey.”

“Finding your honour anytime soon?” Humour is a grateful accompaniment to Katara’s voice now.

“Not yet, but hopefully.”

“Anyway, let _me_ do it next time- it looks horrible!”

“Thanks, Katara,” the response is dry.

The girl in question giggles. Then her smile is sad again and Zuko is forced to remember that Katara has never been a girl- or else it was stunted. Girlhood was lost somewhere in the mess of lost mothers and war, and she’ll never get it back.  
“Let’s continue the nostalgia inside.”

*

“And then you said _I’ll save you from the pirates_ and you tied me to a tree.”

The Fire Lord sitting across from Katara blushes at the scratched-up memories.

“Though I guess it makes sense that a prince such as yourself would have kinky ideas.”

“ _Katara_.”

Said girl cracks up, throwing her head backwards and a belly laugh erupts from her frame. The laugh makes him smile, and then Zuko is laughing as well.

“When we were on Ember Island you found a stash of alcohol and didn’t know it was alcohol. I’ll have you remember that you complimented me on my training body, and said some things you _don’t_ want to remember.”

“My headache was payback for saying that,” Katara mutters.

“Sure, sure.”

Katara decides that this is the place to embarrass the Fire Lord. He has an entire nation of people to run- any place is the place to embarrass him. “Remember your hair back then?”

“Doesn’t _that_ make you like my current hair?”

“Nope.”

Katara stands up suddenly, walking around the table to Zuko’s side. She grabs a chair on that side and turns it to face Zuko. Seating herself again, she places her feet on Zuko’s lap.

There’s suddenly a dash of red on the lord’s cheeks. He coughs, but doesn’t ask her to move her feet. She winks at him and he is suddenly spluttering as though a sea prawn is stuck in his throat.

“Remember when you sent Sparky Sparky Boom Man after us?”

“Wait- what?”  
“Or Combustion Man, whatever you want to call him.”

Zuko blushes brighter, if it’s possible. He combs his fingers through his hair, wincing. “Yeah. I was kind of scared, since Azula had technically gotten me home, and I suspected you’d used the healing water on Aang.”

“Doesn’t matter; I forgive you.”

This does nothing to soothe her previous words’ effect.  
“I understand better, now,” the waterbender says, her voice softening.

Zuko lifts his gaze to meet hers. “I needed to go home.”

Katara nods, a soft smile lingering on her lips.

“But it wasn’t home. It was like- like a distorted form. They treated me like a _hero_ because I had killed the Avatar. But I wasn’t a hero. As you’d understand.”

“You became a hero though.”

Zuko shrugs. “You could think of it like that.”

“No. We were. We became heroes the minute I chained your sister.”

“You brought me back to life.”

“You mean healed you.”

“No. You brought me back to life. In Ba Sing Se. And the Caldera. I died, Katara.”

“You died.”

“Yes.”

Katara lifts her feet again, removing them from his lap. “I’m sorry, Zuko. I really am.”

“Why?” Zuko leans forward, taking her hand in his.

Katara finds herself mapping his features; comparing before and after.  
 _Same hair, same eyes, same colour, same scar_. A fond smile works its way onto Katara’s features. _Familiar. It’s so familiar._

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

Katara startles back into reality, blinking four times before she answers. “What? Sorry, just…imagining.”

The firebender nods softly.  
Suddenly Katara’s face lights up. “I know where to go.” She grasps the Fire Lord’s pale hand in her own and yanks him after her.

*

Zuko follows the waterbender with confusion. But he trusts her. How could he not?

She drags him around to a metal ladder that leads to the roof of the cabin. “What are you doing?” he mutters as she grabs hold of the third rung. She responds with a shrug, and takes a few more steps before she hoists him onto the roof. Zuko watches her crawl to the edge on her knees, the metal banging slightly against her knees.

“Zuko, don’t take too long.” She sits down on the edge of the roof, letting her legs dangle over the side.

Sighing, Zuko follows her, and he follows her gaze to where the sun sits; a flaming ball of red-hot energy. Katara leans against him, her head nestling in the crook of his neck. The feeling of her cool, damp cheek against his boiling hot one sends chills down his back.

The Fire Lord closes his eyes for a moment, and suddenly they’re on Ember Island again, legs dangling over the pier at midnight, insomniac with the Comet only days away, and Katara’s breath fanning against his throat. They’re in that position now.

As if she could torture him more, she raises a leg and drapes it over his. “Open your eyes,” she mutters, and he obeys, letting the sunset seep into the gold of his irises.

He wonders, slightly, what prompted a girl from the ocean to bathe in the sunlight.

Zuko finds that he could almost kiss her, but _no_ , she has only been divorced from Aang for a few weeks, he’s been in her company for even less. Still, her frosty breath and the sheer _comfort_ of her being there makes it pretty hard.

Suddenly there is the quiet noise of coughing coming from the girl’s throat, and her hand is pressed against her lips. She pulls it away with red splattering the chestnut of her skin. “I’m fine,” she mutters. “I’m going to live through this. Remember?”

“I remember,” Zuko sighs, and suddenly he is wistful; sixteen again, staring out over the oceans of the future.

Katara pulls some water from the skin at her side and washes the blood from her hand. “Do you ever forget the war is over? I do.”

Zuko glances left, to where the expanse of blue is so stifling it’s almost equivalent to Katara’s eyes. “No.”

“You don’t have to lie to me, Zuko.” Now she’s looking at him with the same calm of when he was about to see his uncle again.

“Children are never meant to save the world.” How twisted it was that the world’s only hope was a twelve-year-old boy.

“He’s lucky he got Ozai and not Azula.”

“I think my father’s body had been failing for a few years.”

“Abusing that much power has to have some side effects from the gods.”

“True.”

Zuko wraps his arms around the waterbender, pressing his nose to the top of her head, breathing her in. “I wonder if- if things had been different, would we have got together?”  
Katara shrugs, leaning her head back against his chest. “It’s a bit too late for that, isn’t it?”

*

Katara is comfortable in the warmth of the Fire Lord. His heat is all around her, comfortable and welcoming. For a moment her mind jumps back to when he was a Banished prince, the wounds of his father still fresh against the skin of his hatred; the scar three years old. Back then the heat had been angry and deadly, ghosting over the shell of her ear.

He’s so _different_ from the man who’s here now, the one who is kind and whose embrace is gentle. The waterbender thinks that, even back then, he would never have hurt her. Hell, he had been rough in his pursuit of Aang; he’d even _tied her to a tree_ , but never had he hurt her.

Now his chest is like a pillow against her cheek, rising and falling like waves. She glances up and finds that there’s a type of fond smile on his porcelain face. It makes something odd rise inside her; a type of heat in her body, something that could be called love but that is too darn _ancient_ to be love.

And Katara knows that, even if it were love, she would never be able to recognise it.

_I want to kiss you_. The thought creeps on the edges of her mind, a fog crawling onto a shore, but she pushes it away roughly.

Katara feels his arms wrap around her body, pulling her even closer. His nose is pressed against the back of her skull, hot breath fanning over her mocha skin. The familiarity of this stirs up comfortable memories of a fourteen-year-old with a world in her eyes.

Back then, waterbender had pressed against firebender on the shore of Ember Island, their pasts playing on replay across their eyelids. It was as though they were saving them, in case they didn’t see them long enough when their life dwindled away.

And then there are the things that everyone cares to forget. Alcohol made for accidents. But sometimes the worst accidents of all were the ones that _didn’t feel wrong._

Katara pictures this now, enveloped in the embrace of someone entirely flaming.

There’s a dream that Katara used to have:

-A boy, unmarred face turned to face her. He smiled and extended a death-white hand, extensions curling. His dark hair was mussed around his face like he had just gotten out of bed. Then she realised that his skin was not white, but a bright orange. His face was licked with flames, tendrils snaking and consuming the tender flesh. Left behind was, is, will be, nothing but cinders. -

Katara thinks of this now and wonders if that is Zuko, a boy engulfed in livid flames. She had thought he was the proof of her Prince’s death. Her hope of the Southern Water Tribe’s replenishment crushed. It was her way of coping. Not exactly an innocent way of coping, but since when was Katara _innocent?_

Katara sighs, clinching her eyes shut. At least he’s here. Zuko is her best friend.

For a minute, Katara has the almost unquenchable urge to surround herself in her mother, to let a maternal warmth surround her and reassure her-maybe lying, but mothers are supposed to lie- that everything will be okay, Katara. No, you might not be happy now, but everyone will be okay in the end and that’s what matters.

Katara finds herself reaching for the cold; what she remembers her mother’s skin to be like, but instead she finds the boiling hot of Zuko’s skin. It reminds her why only waterbenders can bear the naked skin of a firebender. And thinking this thought leads to thinking about what they did on Ember Island, and that’s where thinking stops.

Katara sucks in a breath at the feel of Zuko’s cheek. It doesn’t burn her-the permanent coldness of her skin doesn’t allow for that. Perhaps Katara wishes that it _would_ burn her. Because then she’d allow the tears to flow for something other than eleven-year-old hurt. But then she knows that Zuko would not stop apologising and the guilt would be too much.

He’s not the one she needs to touch, but he’s the one who’s here.  
There’s no need for words between them. Zuko seems to squeeze a little tighter, Katara seems to relax a little more.  
“In another world I wonder if I would be kissing you right now.” The words come unthought-of from Katara’s lips.

Zuko jerks. “I wonder,” he mutters, and though the words are meant to be funny, there’s something strange mixed in.

That’s how it always is with them. Humour mixed with elements that Katara isn’t quite sure of. Sometimes it’s sadness, sometimes anger, sometimes the warm feeling that fills her at the thought of him.

Actually, it’s always the first two. There’s always either sadness or anger. Such is the life of children of war.

*

Katara fits snugly against him. Her body is thin, yes; worse from the sickness, but it’s nice. His arms are around her, and she seems mournful. Her hand reaches up, searching for someone that isn’t him. Then her almond fingers brush his cheek and they freeze at the contrasting temperatures.

_I’m sorry I’m not your mother._ Perhaps she can pretend he is. He knew she can’t, but he is better at lying now. He tips his chin into her palm.

She’s enough to freeze. But thank god for regulating temperatures, because his warmth balances her. Her hand is only moderate against his cheek. They’re the only other people that they don’t have to bend their temperatures for.

Katara sighs, a frosty exhale coming from her body. Grief runs through the air.  
The next words seem to strike a chord, for Zuko feels his body stiffen. _I’ve wondered far longer than right now._

He bites out the ‘I wonder’ but hates the notes that mix. _You’re not supposed to love her, Fire Lord Zuko._

Zuko’s arms pull tighter around her, and his lips press against the back of her skull.

“It’s okay to cry,” he sighs.

“No, it’s really not.” Katara whispers, rubbing her eyes with her fists. Katara gave up herself in order to save the world; four years ago, when the illusion of youth was prevalent in her body.

Zuko nods in understanding. Suddenly, the constraints around Katara’s throat must be too thick; thicker than usual, stifling her, for chocked sobs squeeze out of her body.

And they must be connected, because it’s as though a noose has been tied around his neck, because he cries with her, salty tears dripping onto the top of her head. She trembles like a lost bird in his arms, trying to stifle her sobs with her palm, but ultimately fails.

Zuko lets it go. Here is this girl that’s haunted his dreams for four years- he can’t let her feel worthless. He knows that feeling too well. He won’t let her feel it as well.

Although she probably does feel it. The pain of war ripped her apart as well.

Last one to see her mother alive. First one to see her dead.

Almost like Zuko. Last one to see his mother alive as well.

That had been what they bonded over. What sad excuses we are for young adults, thinks the Fire Lord.

“I’m sorry,” Katara bites through her tears.

Zuko’s meant to say ‘There’s nothing to be sorry for,’ but Zuko has never been good at saying the right things; so instead he says. “So am I,” and holds her even tighter.

*

The sun finally dips below the horizon, dimming the world significantly. Katara can feel the moon’s almost-presence pulsing through her veins. Sighing, Katara glances up at Zuko. Without a word, Zuko nods and they both make their way back to the ladder.

Katara takes a few steps down, and then makes her way around to the cabin. Zuko follows her. “Do you know where your bedroom is?”

Katara hesitates. “I don’t think so,” she finally says.

As Zuko guides her, it’s as though the heaviness of their previous conversation is gone. Only in the words though. The memories of sadness, however, will never leave.

Zuko arrives with her at her door, a large blue door; contrasting with the steel grey of the rest of the ship. “Did you paint it for me?” she asks, chuckling slightly.

“I didn’t know you were coming beforehand! I just chose it for you.”

She opens the door, and looks around. A bed is pushed into the corner, and a few dressers. The _colours_ , though. Black and red.

Katara sees the glint in Zuko’s eyes and knows. “This was your room, wasn’t it?” she mutters.  
Zuko sighs and nods. His hand moves to the back of his hair, and grabs part of it into a makeshift ponytail. He would laugh, maybe, if he were younger or freer. But he’s not, so instead he just remembers.

But Katara reaches up, brown palm brushing over the pale of his right cheek. “Lot’s of time has passed since then.”

“Five years.”

“Five years,” Katara agrees.

Zuko’s eyes meet hers, and Katara has forgotten how gold they were when they were younger. It hasn’t darkened in the slightest in terms of colour, but they’re older now, sadder.

Suddenly a searing pain rushes through Katara’s gut and she yanks her handkerchief out of her pocket, blood splattering the white surface. Her face scrunches under the weight of her sadness, represented in the red of fire, of the very thing she was forced by Hama to control.

“Ouch,” she whispers when it’s done.

“It hurts you to cough?”

“More than you’ll ever know,” Katara mutters. She shakes her head minutely, and a few untrustworthy strands of dark hair fell into her eyes. Katara in the old world would brush it back, but this Katara didn’t even seem to care.

She notices Zuko’s eyes settling on the strand and his fingers twitch at his side as if he wants to brush it away. Instead, he steps forward, wrapping her in his arms yet again. His chin rests atop her head.

This Katara stiffens, almost, but then wraps her arms around him. She hates how much she’s changed in four years. But this is comforting. _This_ is right. Just like Ember Island was.

She sucks in a thick, musty breath and lets her eyes flutter closed. Zuko’s hand pushes her stray strands back behind her ear. Then his hands vanish completely. “Sleep well,” he says, and makes for the door.

“As if, but thank you,” Katara whispers.

He leans towards her, almost as though he’s going to kiss her forehead. But then he rethinks, and leaves her alone with her thoughts.


	3. Dreamland

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A literal and a metaphorical monster rears its head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Source Material owned by Bryke.

 

Katara’s mind at night is a treacherous thing. It’s full of memories of war, of girls like her gone wrong, of lightning racing towards the only person who understood.

Tonight though, Katara has a strange absence of fear, so odd that she sort of misses it. Because then she felt _something_ other than the chilling numbness in her soul; where hope had once occupied with such ferocity.

She sees the normal darkness at first. But then white blooms like an ice lily, until her world is wholy and completely white. She sees a girl with dark hair, looking like her but not her, breathing softly and slowly. Then from the whiteness behind her steps a figure, short with hair like the deep seas.

 This new figure steps closer to the former. “Kya,” says the newcomer.

 “Sedna.” It’s her mother. Kya. The one who died to save her daughter.

 “You called for me?” Sedna asks, sweet voice lolling over the landscape.

 Sedna leans down, extending her fingered hand to Katara’s mother. Kya takes it, wobbling slightly on her feet. “Sorry. This isn’t _my_ home.”

 “It is the Southern Water Tribem but you are right in that it is not your home.”

 Kya sighs. “It’s a shame. My daughter. I would’ve liked to see her grow.”

 “In our era, that is something few people are rewarded. And your daughter is a waterbender.”

 “Do you know what’ll happen to her?”

 

Sedna smiles, lips curling at the edges. “At the age of fifteen she will be the best waterbender in the world. Better than anyone in the Northern Water Tribe.”

 "You know this?”

 “Spirits like me know all. I know that your daughter will end the war along with your son, and two twelve-year-olds. One of them will be the avatar.”

 “The Avatar,” Kya tastes. “He’s alive?”

 “Yes. Just… stuck.”

 “Will they be happy?” Kya asks the spirit. “My son and daughter?”

 “Somewhat.”

 “Can I see her?” Kya asks.

 

Sedna leans down, pulling water from the ocean and cupping it in her palm, and in it a dreaming Katara sees herself, fourteen. She can see the grey of Whale Tail Island on the day she almost killed Yon Rha. The storm swirls around her. _‘My mother was protecting the last waterbender_.’ ‘ _Really? Who?’ ‘ **Me.’**_

When the image disintegrates, Kya has tears in her eyes. Then she turns to face the sun. “Goodbye, my daughter.”

“ _Mom!”_ the voice arrives from the crevasses of her mind, young and tattered and old all at once. “ _Don’t leave me!”_

“I do wish I could have lived.”

 _“Mom!’_ Younger Katara sobs.

 

And then Kya dives into the water.

 

 

Katara wakes with sweat coating her brow, and a scream from the hollow of her throat. The night is thick outside, but Katara places bare feet on the metallic ground. She turns around and works the sheet and covers off the bed. They ruffle as they hit the floor. Slowly, she works them toward the door, unlocks it, and then pulls the heavy covers outside. She drops them on the ground right beside the railing.

Then she slips in and tries not to think of lost mothers.

This sort of dream is the type she had when she was younger. Nowadays they’re usually of lightning, racing, clawing, clinging to the pulsing thing that is Zuko’s heart, and the war that had raged just outside the borders of ice and snow.

But she used to curse the Spirits for taking her mother away. But then she found out who the men were: Fire Nation.

Katara is soothed by the hum of water now, its singing unconstrained by walls. The sky is still dark, a burst of thick smoke, sprayed with sparks. The singing of the ocean is melodious, uneven but clear. Just like the water, Katara supposes.

“Katara? Katara!” She hears footsteps echoing on the metal.

“No, Sokka. I don’t want to leave,” she whispers, chin facing the sky. Then she remembers that Sokka isn’t here, and she corrects herself. “Zuko.”

 

“Katara, what are you _doing_ out here?" 

“I can’t sleep.” Katara sits up, hand pressing into the mattress. “And I’m a waterbender. The ocean’s right there.” She points with her index to the rail, outside of which sits her element, a basin of shimmering life. The parent of Southern Waterbenders; their protector.

She watches the firebender come closer, brushing hair out of his eyes.

“You should know that sleeping outside will give you hypothermia. And it’s freezing!”

“The dreams will kill me first.”

Katara hugs herself when she sees the resigned nod of understanding coming from Zuko. Then he extends a hand. “If you want I can give you a porthole room so you can hear the ocean?”

“You’d do that?”

“Of course. You’re my best friend.”

Katara smiles. “If I open the door of your- _my_ current room it’ll be better.”

“Yeah. Probably.”

Zuko places his hands on her arms, and lifts her hands from herself, before wrapping her in a hug. She sighs, warmth enveloping her again. 

“Thank you,” she whispers.

 He helps her stand, looking up to where shouts ring from his men. “Disturbances on the sea floor towards us! Rising!”

Zuko shoots Katara a frantic look and takes her hand, pulling her to the deck. Katara strains her ears and hears the water stirring. “Go inside!” she yells at him. “I’ll handle this.”

Zuko looks at her as if she’s delusional. “I took lightning for you you fool,” he says, lips curling in a laugh. “I’m not letting you do this alone.”

Katara stiffens but rolls her eyes and takes a waterbending stance. From the water rears a serpent. “I’ve had enough of these creatures!” she yells.

 “You’ve seen one before?”

 “Serpents’ Pass,” she mutters, and pulls the water from the ocean, spear at the ready.

 

* * *

 

Zuko sees her, the ocean rushing to meet her, freezing; solidifying into a spear. She is beautiful, he thinks for the millionth time. Her eyes flash with life and she rushes forward, spear sailing to bounce off the serpent’s armour. She bounces back to his side. “Fuck,” she grunts.

 Zuko agrees with that as he runs back with her. The robes bounce against his legs, slowing him.

The serpent growls, towering above the ship. Katara is stupid. She is so, because even whilst she almost breaks her neck trying to see where the serpent ends, her face is flush with life, eyes almost feverish with joy. His hands itch at his sides to touch her, to feel her smooth cheeks cupped in his palms. But he shakes it away and focuses on the task at hand.

 Katara seeks for the waves, and pulls one up onto the back of the serpent. She squeals as water rushes onto the deck, soaking into both of their shoes.

 Zuko feels a laugh rushing to the back of his throat. The weight of the wave makes the serpent buckle, it’s neck chafing slightly against the railing. Scales tear from its pores, gathering and falling here and there.

Then he feels it. A cool, freezing hand wrapping in his, ready for battle. She winks at him, lips pulling into a warm smile. “Let’s knock him out. Just like old times.” Zuko raises an eyebrow and then they run forth, Zuko punching forth a fist of flame, striking the serpent in the chest. However, the liquid stifles it until it is barely a flicker, and then gone. 

“Zuko! Can you bend lightning?”

“Yeah?”

“Lightning is attracted to water.”

Zuko’s eyes widen and Katara takes her hand from his and brings the water to clothe the beast. It thrashes to get loose, but Zuko already has his fingers in a lightning position. He sends it forward, and lines of orange lightning rush to meet the water.

The beast screams, and Katara sends it back. The boat rocks violently with electricity before settling. The serpent doesn’t rise again.

“That was easy,” Zuko mutters.

“We’re two masters, what would you expect?” Katara places her palm against his pale cheek.

“Come back to my quarters for breakfast. For a congratulatory meal.”

Katara nods. “I can go with you now.”

Then he takes her elegant brown hand in his; a waterbender’s hand, slender and small, and guides her back to the hull of the ship and into his quarters.

 

He watches her as she reclines against one of the chairs.

 “That was fun,” she remarks, shooting him a sly smirk and curling her arms behind her head. Zuko remembers that she is least formal with him, and is struck by the irony. Fire Lord Zuko is Katara of the Southern Water Tribe’s favourite person to talk informalities to.

 “Yeah.”

Katara chuckles, tongue dampening her lips. Lips he had sometimes- _sometimes-_ imagined kissing in the depth of night. Amongst other things. Suddenly Zuko has to cover a thick blush taking over his face. 

Zuko’s hand twitches at his side. He wants to _touch_ her- to feel her arms, the nooks and crannies of her lips, her eyelids, the shell of her ear, the soles of her feet. For a moment it’s so strong that he has to intertwine his fingers in his tunic.

 Zuko glances away, and Katara of the Southern Water Tribe is obviously a heartless bastard because she breathes an experimental breath of mist onto his face; settling cool and refreshing. And Zuko _moans_ of all things. The Fire Lord _moans._

Katara stifles a giggle with her palm. “How are you holding up, Zuko?”

 Holy- Is she _flirting?_ Even before, when she was younger but not quite innocent, she had never flirted with anyone! Except that one time, but no one needed to know.

 No one needed to know what the consequences had been, either.

“What are you doing?” he says, although he rather likes the deep turn of her voice.

 Katara blinks and suddenly she’s leaning away. “Did I make you uncomfortable? I’m so sorry!” 

“It’s fine, Katara. I wasn’t uncomfortable; just confused.”

“I don’t know what I was doing,” Katara admits, glancing away with a slight blush painting her face. A nice blush.

“Yes you did,” Zuko snorts.

“Forget it.”

“Blackmail.”

Katara’s blush vanishes; replaced with a raised eyebrow and a smirk back on her lips. “I didn’t pin a Fire Lord as being the blackmail type.”

“You know me though. Not a Fire Lord.”

Katara’s smirk disappears once and for all and her face settles into an earnest smile. “I guess that’s true, Zuko.”

 “See. I’m _Zuko._ Not Fire Lord.”

 “And I’m _Katara._ Not the Avatar’s Wife.”

 Zuko smiles. He wants to hug her; to take her in his arms and hold her until all their problems go away.

Katara’s gaze slides sideways, to the porthole; expanse of ocean visible. Her expression drifts; making way for a dreaminess that makes Zuko feel like she isn’t _truly_ there.

This time he does touch her. Only her hand, of course. But her eyes dart back to his and her lips curve upwards; but her eyes do not.

Zuko sighs. How often was she like this with Aang, looking out to an ocean that was far further than it is now.

“It’s right there, you know? The water?”

“I know. How long until we dock?”

Zuko frowns. “In five hours we’ll see the faint outline of Earth Kingdom.” With a sigh, he says, “We’re headed through Omashu.”

“Oh! It’ll be nice to see Bumi! I can’t believe he hasn’t died yet, though I’m not sure if that makes me a bad person.”

“Probably, but we’re not _that_ good. We might have saved the world, but we are not pure.”

She stares at him for a moment, as if flicking through her brain’s content to solve a puzzle.

“Yeah,” she finally says. “I guess you’re right.”

 

* * *

 

Katara is glad for Zuko’s company. As she gazes out at her element, through the porthole, she is glad for his anchorage. She knows, sometimes, that if she isn’t careful the water will flow away with her in it. That’s one of the fears that come with being a Southern Waterbender. The last, to be exact.

Not _Aang,_ of course. He’s the Avatar.

So Zuko is her footing. As she watches the sun rise higher over the blue sea she smiles fondly. But just before she can truly drift, Zuko touches her hand, simply brushing his fingers over the back.

To be honest, she is glad that politics hasn’t torn Zuko away from her. Not that she thought it would; she’s just glad.

She asks for their distances. Katara isn’t sure if she means physically or mentally.

They’ll see Bumi. Somewhere she wonders; how will Aang cope when the old man’s life runs out. Though Aang is 116, he is still a child. This isn’t a grandfather we’re talking about; this is a _friend._ His last friend left.

“You’re not a bad person,” Zuko continues. “You haven’t deluded me into thinking you’re an angel, but you’re not a bad person. Neither am I. You helped me realise that.”

Katara blushes, glancing down at her feet.

“I’m glad I was good for something.”

“You’re important, Katara. Remember, you saved me. If nothing else, you saved the Fire Lord multiple times, saved the _Avatar_ multiple times, brought down Azula, looked after seven kids between twelve and eighteen at one point and four at the rest, became the _best waterbender in the world._ You saved the world, Katara.”

Katara looks up at him then, suddenly serious. “Sometimes I wish I hadn’t.”

“I know,” Zuko replies, tone soft. He leans forward and holds her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “I know, Katara.”

 “Fire Lord Zuko!”

They turn to the sound, jumping apart. Luckily the boy doesn’t seem to have noticed anything.

“We are heading into port faster than we could have expected!”

Zuko turns to face Katara. “I’m blaming you this time.”

Katara simply giggles at the accusation.

“I’m a waterbender, Zuko. You can’t blame me for trying to do something on this ship.”

“Is my company not fitting?”

“It’s plenty fitting, Your Majesty.”

“No need for titles, waterbender.”

In their quiet banter they don’t notice the boy leaving. Katara and Zuko are inches apart; her breath fanning onto his face in short bursts. And somewhere she notices the soft curve of his chapped lips, the calm set of his eyes as though life stands in front of him.

She likes it. She wonders what he thinks she looks like, looking at him with a strange warmth in her chest as though Zuko’s laid a flaming hand over it.


End file.
